


Strange memories

by kapakoscheisigma



Category: Inspector Morse - Fandom, Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kapakoscheisigma/pseuds/kapakoscheisigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Chief Superintendent Innocent calls him into her office to give him the news, Robbie Lewis is lost in thoughts of Val, Morse, his own mortality and of course, his former Chief Superintendent.</p>
<p>In memory of the wonderful James Grout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange memories

**Author's Note:**

> Written over the phone with asparagusmama, but of course, babyklingon also had a huge impact on this too. No beta. Typos, spelling, grammatical and canonical errors all my own.

“Robbie, have you got a minute?” Innocent popped out of her office as Lewis walked past. He was in a good mood; arrests made, paperwork completed and parcelled up for CPS with a full confession. He was on his way to meet Hathaway at the Buttery on the Broad for a well-deserved leisurely lunch.

“Ma’am?” it was always slightly unnerving when Innocent called him Robbie; it normally required him to be a stand-in for the ever-absent, long-suffering Mr. Innocent. He followed her into her office.

She asked him to sit down. She fiddled with her earrings, finally taking them off, opening the top drawer of the desk to put them away.

“I’m telling all officers of...?”

“Seniority ma’am?”

“Um, not exactly...”

“Age, then, ma’am?”

“Age, partly. Certainly. Officers who have been located in Oxford for quite a while.”

Lewis was bemused. “Ma’am?”

“I received news this morning. About my predecessor.”

“Strange ma’am? Or the one who replaced him? Some acting super, wasn’t it? I’d already left for the British Virgin Isles when Strange retired.”

“I’m sorry Robbie. Chief Superintendent Strange passed away a few days ago. Peaceably, in his sleep.”

Lewis stared for a while, feeling rather numb. Strange was old, must have been well past eighty, a contemporary of Morse, he liked to say, but he had a good few years on Morse. Patient he’d been, with all Morse’s foibles and weird ways. Not many a regular copper could have bourn it. He doubted Innocent would, with her love of procedure. And the media.

Turned a blind eye, mostly, to the drinking, did Strange. Gave him a sharp kick up the arse, to, when Morse needed it. Strange had felt a genuine affection coupled with a fond exasperation for Morse, which he, of course, shared.

Yes, he put up with Morse all right, and kept him his sergeant for far too long – no one else will put up with the cantankerous bugger Strange had said to him honestly once, an apology for once again delaying his promotion. But he’d been bloody grateful, he wanted to stay with Morse, wanted to learn all he could.

He could always rely on Strange. Trust him. Could, if he were concerned enough, confide in Strange when Morse was ‘Off On One Of His Things’ knowing Strange would know what to say, how to deal, without making it official and affecting Morse’s career. Unlike Innocent, where Lewis had had to cover for poor James at least twice now.

“Robbie?” Innocent prompted him out of his funk.

“Yes. Fine ma’am. Thank you for telling me.”

But still he stared, at the open drawer neat and nearly empty, some papers, a photo of PC Chris Innocent, the clip-on earrings. Instead Lewis saw screwed up papers and crumbs, an open packet of chocolate Hob Nobs. He was a one for his biscuits, was Strange. Well, you could tell by his portly appearance really. But like other men hid the booze, Strange hid his supply of chocolate digestives or Hob Nobs.

He left the office in a bit of a daze. Morse and more, the older he got, contemporaries, usually a bit or quite a lot older, were passing. Got a man thinking. About how he had more past than future. How it was all downhill. How he ought to take the opportunities when they were on offer. Carpe Diem, Morse would say. And Strange, like he, might scoff at the Latin.

The picture of Chris Innocent got him thinking. He should send a card to the family. Hated the bloody things when he first lost Val, too painful a reminder, but later, much later, quite recently really, he’d begun to go through all the sympathy cards and was deeply affected by the great number of people who had respected, admired, liked and loved Val. Who mourned her passing. Who shared his grief.

It had been Strange himself, descending from on high like a monarch, who had come to break the news. He had come down to Lady Matilda’s in person, couldn’t bear to delegate once he’d heard the news from the Met, he’d said later. He’d then arranged a car and a PC at his disposal to drive him straight there. Lights all the way. Good of him, that. Still too late to say goodbye...

Lewis took a deep breath in the car park. The problem with the news of a death of a colleague, friend or acquaintance was that it all took him back to Val. It hurt. Still.

In the early days, when he’d transferred from Newcastle Vice to Oxford CID with a wife and kiddie and a second on the way Strange couldn’t have been a more friendly, welcoming and supportive boss.

He must send a card to the family. Fond of his daughters, was Strange. Struggled to understand his son, some problem there, god knew he could identify with that, Ken the other side of the world with barely a phone call or email! Sorted it all out though, in the end, Strange and his son. Maybe there was hope for him and Ken?

He must arrange flowers too, and take time of for the funeral. He must find out the day, time and place of it. Lewis vaguely made plans as he struggled to find an illegal parking space in Catte Street, the Broad already full of tourist cars and a coach. But really, his mind ran on with memories and thoughts.

A good policeman was Strange, and a good administrator, and a damn fine boss. One of the best. His politics might have been a bit misplaced, but his heart was in the right place. He’d fought the cut backs of the late eighties and mid nineties tooth and claw. Shame Innocent hadn’t such ferocity this time round, as the cuts were all the more savage.

Yes, thought Lewis, as he walked up the Broad, Strange was an all round good bloke and although he’d not seen him in years, Lewis mourned him. And he felt old too, as more and more of Morse’s contemporaries passed. And here was someone too, who made him feel old and yet, simultaneously, young and brand new. Sitting outside, of course, so he could smoke his foul weed, James had got them a table.

“Sir?” he questioned worriedly. “Are you all right?”

“Bad news, that’s all James. Bit sad, is all,” and Lewis proceeded to tell James, who listened silently and sympathetically, all about Chief Superintendent Strange. 

And yes, Lewis mourned him, and yes he would drink to his memory tonight. But not alone, but with a young man, the once almost priest, who seemed to understand far too well for once so young, the pangs of grief and loneliness that news like this brought with it.

**Author's Note:**

> James Grout RIP


End file.
